Welcome to Baby Brain, a space where I - Charlotte, hi! - write about my life as a mother of three small children - Poppet (m, 5 years), Pickle (m, 3 years) and Peach (f, 11 months.) Those are not their real names. These are real stories from our days.
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Sat having a cup of tea as I waited for the boys to finish their first day of school/preschool, I noticed a mum on the table next to me. She’s one I know the face of without actually knowing, and who once - in the very same coffee shop in which we now sat - took it upon herself to adjust Peach’s ‘socks’ when she saw they weren’t covering her heels. It was a freezing cold day - minus two and icy - and this mum had reached over to correct what she thought to be an error in my child’s clothing, only to recoil when told the ‘socks’ she thought she was pulling were actually half booties attached to a hip dysplasia brace, and didn't include a full foot covering. This mum was, and I say this not lightly, horrified when I informed her of this. Needlessly embarrassed. A little bit disgusted, even, as she ushered her own child away at speed, leaving me to tug at Peach's attire self consciously as I put in my order with the curious barista also now staring at my daughter’s feet.
This memory, seared into my brain, haunts me more than I care to admit, so let this be the place I say I hadn’t dressed Peach - then only two months old and tiny - inappropriately on a snowy day, I had my coat zipped up around her and a scarf big enough to be a blanket draped over her as well. If anything she was too warm, in her layers with my layers draped on top. Boiling, even. I mean, not really, I’m quite obsessive about checking for overheating, but you get the gist. She was fine. More than fine, she was golden.
While there’s a chance this mum has no recollection of this anxiety-inducing incident, and that her avoidance of eye contact since is a coincidence, I doubt it. I myself think of it often and I can only imagine, from the awkwardness between us, that she not only remembers me, but remembers me as a malicious foot freezer.
It's a label with which I will have to live.
Anyway. On this day, the mum was sat with a friend, opposite where I was sat with Peach, and they were both in workwear. There were a lot of women in the coffee shop that day in workwear, and it was as I stealthily observed them all from my table for one (and a half) that it hit me - my life is changing. My son is starting school, I am going back to work two days a week as soon as Peach turns one and (and I got a bit dramatic here so do take this with a pinch of salt) my time with small children was ENDING and they were going to be TEENAGERS soon and OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?